Case Number 11586: Small Claims Court

THE MAN AND THE MONSTER

The Charge

Tickle the Ivories...to Terror!

The Case

When Ricardo, a reporter for a local list looks up the former musical
sensation Maestro Samuel, he discovers something odd about the one time
celebrity. Not only has he refused to play the piano ever again, but he is
building up a young protégé named Laura to take his place. Trying
desperately to get more information, his advances are constantly thwarted by
Samuel's manipulative mother Cornelia. There is obviously a secret the family
insists of keeping, and our intrepid newsie will not rest until he discovers
what it is. Turns out, Samuel sold his soul to Satan to defeat a female rival
named Alejandra, and after a fatal confrontation, he's destined to live his life
in a permanent state of flux. When he doesn't play, he's mild and kind hearted.
But the minute he sits at the piano, he is possessed by a spirit of evil that
turns him into a raving fiend. It is this difference between The Man and the
Monster, and how it will effect Laura, that Ricardo must unravel...before
it's too late.

Atmospheric, goofy, and just a tad sentimental, The Man and the
Monster is Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde crossed with a Hispanic version of
the early life of Liberace. Indeed, if you ever wondered how the piano plays
into the whole 'sold my soul to the Devil' routine, this is the weird ass
Mexican horror film for you. Drowning in the kind of dread that only bold black
and white movies can deliver, and reeking of a kind of arch artistic aura, what
we end up with is a wonderfully evocative narrative draped in some of the
silliest special effects this side of Roger Corman. The Man and the
Monster somehow manages to stretch a whisper thin premise into 80
mesmerizing minutes, but not all of the spellbinding comes from the creepshow.
Indeed, you'll probably find yourself much more enthralled with the
hyperstylized acting (the Maestro is like Mel Welles meshed with Mel Gibson),
ridiculous creature make-up, and perhaps the worst fake keyboard work of all
time. When a film about musicians allows its actors to basically lay their hands
on the 88's and slowly shift them around in arrhythmic randomness, you know it's
more concerned about the boos than the believability. As a matter of fact,
The Man and the Monster is so devoid of realism that it turns into a kind
of freaked out fairytale, a perplexing parable about a famed virtuoso, a
passionate protégé, and the domineering mother/hirsute horror that
comes between them.

One things for certain...director Rafael Baledón sure loves his unusual
cinematic approaches. His sets are large, open spaces that seem to maximize the
very edges of the frame, while his use of light is sparing and shadow-inducing
(the better to get away with his Chia Pet creature creation). His performers are
given limited acting options (Maestro...be worried; Laura...be afraid;
Mother...be a biz-nitch), and he has an abnormal fascination with the feline
form. That's right, all throughout The Man and the Monster, the Maestro's
mom carriers a big black cat, and at any given moment in the narrative, she is
prone to toss the poor beast across the room like some manner of animalistic
exclamation point. Even better, there are odd beats when the beastie pounces out
of nowhere, suggesting a supernatural presence that really doesn't exist. A
great deal of this movie plays out in this manner...i.e. suggesting things that
don't have an actual rationale or reason for being...but that's also part of its
magic. We are enthralled to see what Baledón will do next, what that corpse
is doing in the closet, and how our newspaper reporter Ricardo will figure
everything out without doing a single bit of investigation or deduction. Truth
be told, he more or less stumbles into the conclusion, getting vital information
literally handed to him at the very last minute.

And still, there is something sly and sinister about this film, a tone that
tells us that, all silliness aside, some serious spit is about to go down.
Thanks to the grave looks on the characters' faces, the uber-emotional pitch
everyone is playing at, the singular moments of macabre machination (the opening
sequence where a growling voice from beyond a locked door demands release) and
outstanding sense of place, we get swept up in the story being told and can't
wait for the next narrative twist on the horizon. Sure, Baledón is
basically making schlock...but with a measure of classical music majesty.
Indeed, the various piano pieces really amplify the tone of terror, their
inherent drama driving the film forward. Even when our main character turns into
the Latino version of Bigfoot, we excuse the kitsch because of all the other
cinematic facets in the foreground. Sure, there will be viewers who come at this
expecting fear, only to find full blown foolishness and a really surreal sense
of scariness. But The Man and the Monster is a movie that shouldn't be
dismissed outright. Instead, it can be savored from any interpretation of the
word 'dreadful'.

As part of their ongoing desire to bring Mexican horror movies back from
b-movie purgatory, Casanegra gives The Man and the Monster the kind of
DVD release all old fashioned scary movies should hope for. From the pristine
1.33:1 monochrome image to the crystal clear (and well subtitled) original
Spanish language track, this 1958 film never looked or sounded better. The bonus
features may be sparse...a movie poster slideshow, a set of cast biographies, a
radio spot, and a stills gallery...but it is indeed welcome. While a little more
context would have been nice...say a commentary from a genre scholar or an
overall documentary on the Hispanic horror scene...the flawless transfer and
optional English dub soundtrack are reason enough to celebrate. In the long
lineage of obscure terror titles, The Man and the Monster may be one of
the most unusual. It is also one of the most enjoyable.